


Pain Can Be Taken; I Want To Give You My Pain.

by CescaLR



Series: The Time After Everything (Season 4 AU) [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU - end of season 3B; 'The Divine Move', Drinking, F/M, Gen, Nogitsune after efects, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Stalia, Swearing, Um., after that, and the nogi ability to feed on bad emotions, anyway;, empathetic!Stiles, he doesn't like them., he has like a mix of that., kinda majorish, not of import., please don't be put off by it., sorry., stiles has powers kinda, that werewolf ability to take pain, the OC is literally only in passing mention., um..., umm., whooooo-, yada yada, yay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 04:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7420513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CescaLR/pseuds/CescaLR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles knew the days after the funerals would be pretty much the same as those before, but with more pretending to be okay and reverting to past selves as if that would help matters.</p><p>he knew that.</p><p>And, as most times, Stiles was right. For the most part.</p><p>But Stiles was wrong about something. Something, that lately, he came to know he'd often be wrong about.</p><p>Himself.</p><p>("I'm fine", he'd repeat, over and over and over to Malia, and she'd know the meaning is "I'm really, really not.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pain Can Be Taken; I Want To Give You My Pain.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Heyo! Massive A/N at the bottom. Please read, it talks about some stuff to do with this story and why it seems to end so abruptly.

Stiles knew the days after the funerals ( _oh god Alison, Alison, I'm so, so_ _ **sorry**_ _)_ would be pretty much the same as those before, but with more pretending to be okay and reverting to past selves as if that would help matters.

He knew, he knew that.

( ** _He_** _laughed, darkly. "Oh, I know…")_

And, as most times, Stiles was right. For the most part.

Scott was… well, _Scott,_ but apparently now he was a lot more aggressive when it came to Lacrosse.

Which. Well. Made sense, after all – lacrosse is a violent game.

(What with werewolves and people who definitely aren't teenagers and death death _death_ on the field.)

But Stiles was wrong about something. Something, that lately, he came to know he'd often be wrong about.

Himself.

("I'm fine", he'd repeat, over and over and over to Malia, and she'd know the meaning is "I'm really, really _not.")_

 _Emotions_ , he reflected, nursing a glass of Jack, the bottle on the coffee table and Malia sprawled out on the couch, _Emotions are stupid._

Malia felt like the warmth of happiness, the fog of inebriation, the sparks of attraction (to him, he thinks, and grins), like the burning, simmering fire of always-there anger and the turbulent winds of a storm of chaotic thoughts. This is what she often feels like, these days, minus the fog and the warmth.

She's colder than him, and that's saying something. Even more is said by the fact she thinks he's _warm._

"I'm never, e-ever warm, Mal… Mal-li… Mal-i-a" He says, drunkenly, and she looks at him confusedly, giggles, and rolls over, _thud, thud thud_ , onto the floor. "I'm drunk" She says, louder than necessary, yet clearly, and he nods, the room swimming. "We. We both are." He grins, she grins, and a two-person chorus of "Yeah!" goes round the mostly empty house. He fist-bumps the air, and she laughs, and he laughs and they don't stop laughing.

 _It's not funny,_ he thinks, muses, _but our lives are ridiculous._

_What harm is there in a little laughter?_

( _A lot,_ his memories (?) reply, flashes of cruel laughter and not-so-funny pranks and 'tricks'. _A Lot._ )

He stops laughing.

Malia's passed out on the floor now but she won't be for long, and he wonders where that supernatural tolerance to getting drunk is, because apparently it left her behind at the bus stop.

(What even is that metaphor? He smacks himself mentally.)

He puts down the glass and picks up the bottle, because the only time he goes back to drinking straight from it is when Malia isn't around (or aware) enough to limit his intake.

He takes a swig, and settles on the massive hangover he'll have in the morning.

* * *

He didn't have a hangover.

In fact, it's almost like he hadn't drunk at all, he felt more refreshed than he had in a long time.

More awake now, he noticed his hand on Malia's leg and the black, black _veins,_ in his hands and his arms and he yanks it back, and she jerks awake from what seemed a peaceful slumber.

"Wha…?" She groans, then complains, "Crap, hangover." And buries her face in the carpet. He contemplates chuckling, but decides against it, echoes of maniacal laugher ringing in his ears.

"I'll get the water," Because pills don't work so great on Malia, they don't do much of anything and he's alright with that because it means she can't be drugged.

She nods, and murmus "Thanks" into the flesh of her arms, under a whisper, and it wasn't that long ago he'd 've had to ask her _what did you say?_

Now, he just nods and goes to the kitchen to get her a drink. Of water. More alcohol would be stupid.

(For a second he contemplates mixing in some vodka as he runs the tap and the water goes into the cup. He's half moved to the cupboard before he realises what he's doing.

This time, he doesn't just smack himself mentally.)

Stiles goes back to Malia and gives her the cup. The meaningful way she looks at him and brushes her hand on the bare skin of his arm (he must have taken his hoodie off at some point. (He needs more long-sleved t-shirts.)), and for a second veins show, stark black but gone in an instant, the way she smiles softly and says "Thanks," in a low, quiet voice that betrays none of the feelings he can tell she bottles up inside, the ones she hates and for a while he sometimes takes on accident when sleeping. The meaningful way she does that makes him feel uncomfortable because this power of his, well, it isn't his, it belongs to some evil creature that apparently got off on the feeling of other people's pain. Took power and took pleasure in it, _fed_ off of it.

He grimaces at the memories that come up, gives her a fake smile - the one he's perfected, the one that looks like his old one but changed just enough so that it looks genuine - doesn't fool her but it makes her back off, as it always does.

(Sometimes, they treat each other the way they hate - like broken glass. From her though, it isn't as aggravating.)

* * *

Stiles had managed to avoid alone-time with Scott for a few weeks, managed to always have someone else there, usually Malia, to drag him (Stiles) away, or Malia bribes kira and gets her to drag Scott off for something, or Lydia's there so that means everyone's there, so it doesn't matter if he's in the same room as Scott, since he's not gonna try to talk with so many witnesses.

But.

Stiles has shit luck, as he's bemoaned many a time, so. Really.

it was only a matter of time before it ran out on him.

(Again, his luck is the legitimate worst. Not only is he alone with Scott but he's not wearing anything with long sleves. One point of contact on one arm, below the end of his T-shirt sleve and bam! Game's over.)

(He really wishes he could control this stupid leeching ability right now. God damn it.)

Scott sits quiet in the passenger seat, an almost-blank look on his face showing his thinking.

_Just perfect._

Scott nods to himself once, twice, and speaks. "You okay?" He asks, as if this hasn't been asked so many times that it's lost all meaning. In fact, it's so often asks that it is literally ingrained in him to reply "I'm fine," on beat and in the right tone (one of slight exasperation and annoyance.) Scott exhales forcefully, and blinks out at the scenery. "How are you and Malia?" He asks, testing the waters in a way that's painfuly obvious.

_God, when did it get so bad that we can't even talk to each other?_

_Oh wait. I know the answer. It's Scott who doesn't._

"We're fine." and _that's great. Be monosyllabic, that's a surefire way to fix a relationship that isn't working because of lack of communication._

He nods and there's silence in the jeep once more. Stiles is overcome with a pointless wave of agression, and with some effort he manages to stop himself from hitting the steering wheel in frustration.

His hand twitches, as if to move, and Stiles knows there's no way in hell Scott didn't just get a noseful of anger, or see the way his hand basically spasmed. (Okay, so it was a little more than a 'twitch'.)

Scott opens his mouth as if to - cautiously of course, we can't set off the ticking time bomb - ask him, for the umpteenth time, _are you okay, Stiles, are you alright?_ and he can't stop himself from banging his hand into the steering wheel. Scott jumps as the car sputters and dies, and, cursing, stiles barges out of the car and gets the wrenches and duct tape rolls to go try to fix it. After a few seconds the angry wave comes back, and this time he doesn't supress it for later. "Fucking - god damn - This stupid _jeep!_ " He yells, and angrily chucks the box of wrenches as far as he can throw them. (They disappear far off into the trees and Scott looks a little shocked at that. Or was it the outburst in general? Stiles is too far into not-giving-a-shit-because-that-leads-to-anger territory right now that he can't tell.(He's over his outburst.)) Panting, Stiles slid down the side of the jeep to the floor, and pats the car's tire. "Sorry Roscoe." He murmurs, worn out.

"Dude." Scott says, and the worry Stiles can feel pouring off of him in waves despite the fact he's not a) drunk, which seems to wake up any empathetic powers he has, or b) touching him, either through clothes or bare skin, both hurts and brings back up dredges of anger, soft and simmering, yet harsh and fresh. "What?" and he knows his tone is irratable, knows Scott can scent emotions so knows he can feel the turbulent storm within him right now and knows Scott's gonna dive right in anyway.

Because Scott's - well. _Scott._

Scott sits, cross-legged, on the ground in from of him, his eyes searching and concerned. Unconciously, Stiles at least hopes it was, Scott's eyes flash red and rather than submitting, rather than being the human beta whatever he is just _has_ to have a problem with that, just has to make things worse and more awkward. Instead, he glares, and hopes beyond hope his eyes never flash colours other than the one they always are (whiskey brown, when lght is shone in them, Malia murmured once, and. Wow. Okay, that's just great. Stilinski's just can't get away from alcohol, can they? But normally, they're brown, and, at times, can look as black as the marks on his soul and the darkness around his heart.).

For a second, Stiles can feel Scott's surprise, the almost-hurt-ness echoing in the empty air. (He feel's the _Wolf's_ \- and he's surprised his mind almost sneers that word - the Alpha's hurt-anger, the true alpha wondering why his second in command is - well. No longer his second in command.)

Guilt screaming in his ears, buzzing and nauseous, he bites his top lip and looks away, sighing, and moves to fix the jeep.

_Duct tape won't work forever. And I can't be the only one to fix this._

_Something had to give eventually._ (Right now, he's not even sure if he's still thinking of the jeep.)

Scott's back after a minute, box of wrenches in hand and a blank expression as he hands them over. Stiles sighs, takes the wrenches, and looks at him.

His fingers tap a not-so-unfamiliar rythm on the jeep, and he puts the box down.

(Scott looks warily at his fingers, and they still. He picks up a wrench because he's nervous and has nervous energy and can't just do nothing.)

Scott isn't sure of how to proceed. Neither is he, but it can't hurt to try to fix this.

"So. I guess there are things we haven't told each other. Me, more than you."

"Yeah, Stiles. Seems so."

Stiles grimaces, tightens something with the wrench and breaks off some duct tape and wraps it round that something, hoping this at least does _something_ to help it run smoothly.

(Really, he has no idea what he's doing.)

"I just. Sometimes, I feel a little... angry. For - no reason. Really, it just... happens."

Scott nods, and leans against the jeep. He spots a weak point, and Stiles patches it up.

"I - uh. There was an... accident. Last night."

"Yeah?" Stiles stops, the waves of guilt, worry and almost-fear coming off of his friend leaving a tangy, bitter taste in his mouth and the feeling of sick in the back of his throat. He stills his hand mid-turn, and tilts his head up to Scott's.

(The Sun is setting, and Stiles' face is cast into shadow by the jeep's hood, where as Scott is still illuminated. Somehow, it's fitting. At least, to Stiles. Though, he's not really sure what it signifies or why he noticed it. It just feels important, somehow.)

"We were - There was this kid, this freshman, right, and - and there was this werewolf from outta town, see, and- and -"

"Woah, woah, Scotty. Slow down, calm down, no rush. Explain, don't work yourself up." Stiles had half moved to place a comforting hand on his shoulder but thought better of it in the last second. Instead, he made the motion seem as if he was reaching for the duct tape, and grabbed some and stuck it in a random place that looked like it needed it.

The wrench lay forgotten in the workings of the car, forgotten because right now there was something more important than fixing the jeep.

There always is. It's why it's gotten so bad.

Scott nods, and continues, slower this time. "So. The kid, he was being chased by the rabid werewolf, right? Because I was trying to lure it away from civilisation but the guy was out on a walk, for some reason, and - and so when he saw the other wolf - he, ran, right? - really well, actually, he's probably on the track team or something - he ran and got chased to the car park, okay? And he ran up to the roof, and he was backed up to the edge but didn't notice and there was a fight, right? but - but I don't really remember, but I bit him, I know that I did and so - so we kinda maybe kidnapped him a little bit? Maybe? and he's up in derek's loft with Lydia and Kira and everyone. And. Uh. Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me when it happend, huh?"

"I was gonna. But - it got out of hand, and we delt with it, and -"

"And you forgot that since you made your own beta, your wolf classes that as it's second in command now, rather than me, the human. Because the wolf wants a pack of supernaturals, not just people who _know of_ the supernatural. S'not your fault, Scotty, really. Jus' nature, and stupid werewolf shit. So who's the kid, anyway, and is this gonna end with another visit to my dad's work place? or are we gonna not deal with another Jackson incident and get thrown into jail or another restraining order, or whatever?"

Scott grimaced. "I was hoping you'd have some ideas."

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, sure, just tell me who the kid is and I'll tell my dad that you and your alpha self accidentally bit him, and now you're trying to figure out how to break all this to him, so my dad can stall. Right? 'Cause thats what I got, Scott. Sound like a plan?"

Scott groaned and put his head in his hands. "I messed up, didn' I?"

"Yeah, Scotty. Just a lil' bit." Stiles put the hood down and patted the car, and it instantly roared back to life. Stiles stumbled backwards and Scott jumped about a half a meter in the air, surprise written clearly on his face. For a second, they just stood there, then started laughing and it was as if there hadn't been a huge rift betewwn them for three weeks.

They weren't gonna break just yet. They have some mileage left.

* * *

Liam Dunbar has anger issues, and this was the most annoying mistake to have been made. Not angering, not life thereatening, but definitely annoying. Stiles and Malia glared at Scott who winced in apology, whilst Lydia and Kira tried to talk the guy down from his anger-high.

_Fuck, this is our life. Jesus._

( _God, if I could just control what ever it is I can do, and if it wouldn't be pack suicide to tell anyone except Malia, then this would be so, so much easier.)_

"Oh my god." Stiles muttered, turned round and grabbed the syringe off of the table (deaton had reccomended it, just in case.), went over to the strggling, yelling, roaring, snapping, shaking liam and jabbed him in the arm. It took all of a minute for him to be knocked out cold. He yanked the syringe out of the kid's arm, and went and flopped onto the couch, massaging the sides of his head.

God damn it, panic from others gives him headaches. Apparently.

Malia, unfazed as ever, sat down next to him, and rubbed his shoulder as a gesture of comfort.

She glared at Liam, as if he'd done something to offend her personally, and the others just stared at Stiles.

"Well, that's one way to calm him down." Lydia said, vauge amusmemt colouring her tone, but in truth he could tell it greatly amused her. The most amusing part, he could tell, was Scott's bafflement at his actions.

_Oh great. Now I can feel reasons behind emotions. Wonderful._

_"What?"_ Malia said, and there was warning in her tone. Scott's jaw snapped shut with a click, and Stiles couldn't stop the minor flinch he knew the weres could detect.

"At least he isn't a danger to himself now" Kira pointed out with her usual level of optimism, and he suddenly felt bad for ever being rude to her, ever.

_(Thank you, little fox.)_

_Thanks, Kira._

* * *

"So, let's go over this. I - I'm a _werewolf_." Liam stated, a questioning tone to his voice.

_Oh my god. Seriously?_

Stiles rolled his eyes.

" _Yes,_ you little runt. You're a werewolf. Scott's your Alpha. Lydia's a banshee. Kira's a-"

"Fox spirit. Right?" He interrupted, confident then unsure. Kira shrugged. "Fox works." "Kitsune's the term though," Lydia pointed out. "Don't want him to offend anybeing." Stiles nodded. "Right?" He agreed, the question rhetorical. "Anyway, Kira; kitsune. The Argents; Mostly hunters though I suppose some could have abstained from the family business. Hale's are generally werewolves, though I suppose there could be other weres in the family, and I know for a fact that there were humans before the main, Hale Pack, strain was wiped out by Kate Argent. So that's Derek, Cora, and Peter Hale, so far as we know. Malia here's a werecoyote, and yeah, that seems 'bout it."

_don't notice. Come on, kid, don't let me down._

"What're you?" He asked, a bit confused. Colours swam in Stiles' head and he blinked a few times. "Me? Well, for a while I was possessed by this evil spirit. It was very evil." That's all he really needs to know about that. "What about now?" he questioned further, a curious gleam in his eyes and pouring off of him in waves.

It made Stiles' skin itch, and he started tapping the rhythm he doesn't know on his leg. Malia discretely grabbed his arm and stilled his movement.

(Lydia was watching from the corner of her eye. The wariness felt like storm clouds, and that stopped him more effectively than anything. But, apparently, that stillness just made people worry more, be more wary - and what was he supposed to do? The manerisms of the Nogitsune when in him when around them were his - so anything he does would make them wary, if unintentionally on their part.)

"...better?..."

_God damn it I need a mouth filter._

Scott glanced at Stiles, and so did the others, but Liam either didn't notice or politely ignored it (Bets on the first one.), and nodded in acceptance.

"Right. So, I have to keep this secret?"

Stiles spoke before anyone else could, and two people looked a bit annoyed. "IF you think it's right to. Some things are better out in the open, but if you think someone would be happier not knowing then don't tell them unless absolutely necessary." "However, I think you should tell your closest friend, and your parents, or parent." Lydia put in, butting in before Scott could get a word in edgewise.

_(He looks_ **_so_ ** _annoyed right now it's hilarious.)_

_Probably should let him talk._

"But really, in the end it's your alpha's decision. First thing Derek should have told us, but really didn't - packs aren't democracies. They're dictatorships. What the Alpha says, goes, and that's why they have in-pack advisors. Sounding boards, really. Anyway, what I'm saying is that it ultimately is up to Scott if you say anything...""or don't," Malia finished.

All eyes were on Scott, and he opened his mouth, paused, and then spoke. "I think it should be up to you. I don't know the people you know, don't know how they'd react to the supernatural. Some people just can't handle it, and some can. Those that can't, they can go... bad. Or, alternatively, they can just... just - Go."

Stiles could sense the capital 'Go', could sense the meaning of _they could, and probably would, die._

Liam visibly swallowed, and made one of the strangest facial expressions Stiles had ever seen, before returning to a normal facial expression and nodding. "I have someone in mind, but I'm not - not gonna tell my stepdad. At least, not yet." And they nodded, they all nodded, and Stiles was hit with a burst of _pack mentality, ugh,_ and his head jerked to a stop, against his own will. Malia's grip tightened, her knuckles white but his skin unmarked and no pain felt from it. Scott noticed Malia's grip, and noticed Stiles' lack of pain, and filed it away for later. As did Lydia.

"So... Can I leave?" Scott rapidly shook his head, and Stiles looked at him, wide-eyed. "Oh my god no that's a terrible idea. You don't have control yet, full moon's tomorrow, you have anger issues, you won't be in control of your own actions - do you _want_ to go to town on your family members?!" and yeah, he was rambling, and panicking, and maybe projecting a little, and no that was not why the lights flickered. Kira winced, apologetically, and then looked confused, as she knew there was no reason for her to have done that and besides, so far, she's needed to touch something for anything to happen and it was never consistent. (It was why the lights flickered.). She remembered something her mother told her, and flicked her eyes over to Stiles, unnoticed by Scott, Malia and Stiles, but not Lydia.

Liam stared at Stiles, wide eyed, and Scott reached out to him, and led him aside, murmuring quietly.

Malia dragged Stiles over to the couch by the arm, and sat them down together. Stiles could see Lydia move to Kira and start talking.

He blocked it out.

Malia moved her hand from his sleve covered forearm to his wrist and finally to his hand, and almost immediately thick, black veins spread from the places where they were touching up his arm hidden by his sleve. He yanked his arm away, eyes wide like _are you trying to get this noticed?_ and she frowned at him, grabbed his arm and dragged him into a dark corner. she hissed, under her breath quiet words, simmering angry frustrated annoyance directed at him like little knives, travelling from her hand up his arm through his sleve like pins and needles. "You need it, okay? It doesn't matter to me where it came from, or anything like that and I never say anything _because it doesn't matter._ So what if some other being has this ability? Who cares! I want rid of some weird feeling things that make me _weak,"_ and that last word was practically spit out like it was some sort of curse word "and hey, if those feelings make you look less like you're dying, I _want_ to give them to you. You're physical and mental state depends on it, okay? This morning - I've never seen you so healthy looking. it lasted nearly a day - it's like, what, eleven at night now? - and now you look terrible again. You look like you're in pain and we can't have scott or anyone try to take that from you because - newsflash - _that'd_ be what leads them to finding out. It's suspicious enough that you suddenly have to change seats when ever someone tries to touch you, or when you don't have anything longsleved and you stand as far away from everyone as is socially acceptable. Just _let me help,_ okay? I can't do what Scott can do, I can't take pain away but I have enough to _give,_ so just fucking _let me give it,_ god damn it Stiles!" He quickly covered her mouth and looked around, checking to see if anyone heard her outburst. "That's very nice of you but could this have waited?" he asked, slight annoyance mostly fear colouring his tone. "Seriously, beings with super-hearing are in the room with us!" She deflated, and nodded, but her eyes were burning, cold and he felt it, and it made him shiver. He licked his lips and removed his hand, slowly, and stepped back. "Sorry", he apologised quietly. "Sorry."

She nodded, and walked back to the main are. He jerked his head and pulled a face of self-aimed anger, rubbed a hand over his mouth and waited for a minute to calm down.

He grimaced and followed after her.

* * *

_Detached images - thoughts - feelings - black hair, red lips, **beauty -** orders, regulations **sometimes he always hates his job -** riddles, riddles, what does everyone have that no-one can loose, **Noshiko? -**_

Stiles jolted awake, confused.

_Where, the camp, this isn't -_

**_Oh god._ **

"Not again..." he muttered, angry at himself and the nogitsune, at Rhys and Noshiko and everyone and everything. Malia rolled over and cuddled up to his bare arm in her sleep, the frown she wore melting away as the veins spread up his arm.

_Well. Maybe not_ _everyone._

He moves his arm almost instinctively, (the free one, obviously) and places it on her bare forearm, the veins spreading up this arm and a small smile spreading across her face in her sleep.

He buries his head in her hair, breathes in her scent and tries to get some rest.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: it was not supposed to finish here; in fact, I had an entire freaking section of Nokisho and Stiles interaction before I fucked up and it deleted. Oh my god. 
> 
> So, as you can probably guess, I cannot be bothered to write another thousand-ish words again, because they won't turn out the same and that will annoy me to no end. So, even if it seems abrupt I'm going to finish here. So, you probably notice that this is kind of similar to the other oneshot, and that's because it's set in the same universe. Kinda. it's a vague universe with no real plot at the moment - these oneshots are more 'in the life of Stalia' in this AU at the moment, really, but I'm hoping that will evolve - you can probably tell that it's gonna come soon-ish, and hopefully will be multi-chaptered. 
> 
> So, the next one will probably be a new version of the Noshiko and Stiles interaction. Yeahhh. Ugh. This is the worst. 
> 
> (Also? Lost a bunch of edits to the flow and rest of the story = I had to change a chunk of the phrasing, and it took me forever and I'm not doing it again. Not today at least. Maybe I'll fix it later, but let's be honest. Pro'lly not gonna. )
> 
> And then conflict wise, I suppose we've got some season four shit mulling around - what with liam. But I haven't actually watched that season yet, soooooo- 
> 
> The way he gets turned is probably totally off from canon, but heh. Oh well. Also, the facial expression thing. I've seen some kind of hilarious screen caps that capture the character at times of hilarious facial expressions. so yeah. I've incorporated that. 
> 
> Um, I'm not too happy with the stiles-voice I've got going here. does anyone else get that not-quite-stiles vibe? I dunno, I just - do I write him Okay? He's a bit off, because he is in the AU, but his personality is the same as show-stiles. Just with powers an' shit. (more than the weird spark thing (which i'm incorporating) and the random bouts of extra strength (it is nigh on impossible to shatter a wooden baseball bat into splinters and sawdust. I've googled it. Same with holding some dead weight human, older and bigger, whilst both are fully clothed, above water. It's a depressingly short amound of time, and definitely less than two freakin' hours.)). 
> 
> So i'm hoping no-ones' too OOC. That would be the worst. less 'the worst' than the whole lost a bunch of the chapter worst, but still. the worst. 
> 
> I think that's it. 
> 
> Tarah.
> 
> \- Cesca.


End file.
